


Reclamation

by Shadaras



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Names, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FN-2187 has a new name. That's hard to remember, especially when he first reawakens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reclamation

“I’m gonna call you Finn,” the Resistance pilot says, and then he adds, “Is that alright?” as if there was a _question_ to answer. As if it mattered what someone called him, with the chaos surrounding them.

“Finn...” FN-2187 echoes back. “Yeah! I like that.” He grins, exhilaration at the escape mixing with the question being asked. “I like that!”

“I’m Poe, Poe Dameron.”

FN-2187 knows the script. He’s seen it in sims, watched officers exchanged pleasantries. “Good to meet you, Poe,” he calls across the cramped cockpit.

“Good to meet you too, Finn!” Poe says, and the TIE fighter swung around another burst of turbolaser fire and there isn’t any more time for talking.

-=-

Rey didn’t question it when FN-2187 says his name is Finn. The relief that flooded him is a surprise; he hadn’t expected to care that much, but she’s the first person he’d introduced himself to as something other than a number. There is no need to be known only as soldier 2187 of FN group anymore.

FN-2187 breathes in, and out, and helps convince the little droid, BB-8 (a name that could have been a soldier’s, once upon a time) to tell them where to go, and he keeps repeating, until he’s sure it’ll stay in his head, that the desert warrior-pilot’s name is Rey and he is called Finn. They’re both short, monosyllabic names that are easy to hear through combat or across the long windy hills of sand.

( _Just like Poe_ , says a quiet voice in the back of his head. He tries to ignore that voice.)

-=-

Han Solo doesn’t question his introduction either.

-=-

It’s two days later and FN-2187 is lying in the snow and Rey is telling him that Finn can’t die.

FN-2187 closes his eyes; not because he wants to, but because they’re too heavy to keep open.

-=-

He opens his eyes again and everything tastes like bacta and everything smells like bacta and he had forgotten how much bacta inundates the senses with sticky-sweetness. In front of him is a woman he thinks he may have seen once before, and a medical droid of a model he knows is out of date, which is holding a spray nozzle.

“Please pardon the low-tech nature of this cleanse,” the droid says. It even sounds apologetic. “We do not have the resources we wish we did.”

FN-2187 blinks at the droid, and is just opening his mouth to ask what it means when its fingers press down on the nozzle and water (clean, and surprisingly warm) smacks him all over his (naked) torso and runs down his (minimally clothed) hips and (uncovered) legs. The water gets inside his mouth, too, but that’s nice; it washes out the bacta, as much as anything can. And he’s wearing something over his genitalia; that’s more of a kindness than the First Order would bother with.

He’s not in the First Order. He’s with the Resistance. The woman is a doctor. She helped Chewbacca after Takodana. If she’s helping him now, that means that someone got him back here. That means that-- “Rey?” he asks, sputtering a little. “Is Rey hurt?”

The spray of water stops. “No,” the doctor says calmly. “She returned physically unharmed save for bruises and scratches that she informed me would heal on their own.” She smiles, and her voice softens. “Congratulations, Finn; you rescued her.”

His back straightens instinctively, and FN-2187 barely resists the urge to salute. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Doctor Kalonia,” she says, and he’s pretty sure it’s a correction. “Now, you should be healed.” She glances over a datapad, and the droid offers him what he’s pretty certain is a bathrobe, though he’s never encountered one before. Towels you can wear. Such luxury.

FN-2187 puts it on, waiting for pain to hit, but there’s just a faint ache in his right shoulder and across his back. He wraps it tight around him, the fabric feeling rough against skin that shouldn’t have lost so much toughening from his stay in the bacta tank. He waits over what he’s finally realized is a drain, and the grating bites his bare feet. There should be callouses there. It shouldn’t almost-hurt.

Doctor Kalonia asks, “Do you feel any pain?”

“No, Doctor.”

“Excellent. Come over to the exam table with me, please.”

FN-2187 follows obediently. This is... not quite normal, but close enough. It’s a relief that the medical staff understands how orders work; he remembers not being quite sure anyone else did. The floor is cool under his feet, and he sits on the padded table without being asked.

Doctor Kalonia picks up a scanner and begins by pointing it into his eyes and ears. “We’ve been checking on you in the tank, of course, but it’s best to do an exam after you’re decanted as well, in case the bacta interfered with our instruments. Open your mouth.” One end is inserted between his teeth and withdrawn before he quite registers that it’s there. “Excellent, nothing wrong here. I’m going to need to check your back now, take off the robe.”

The procedure is standard even across factions. There’s a comfort there that FN-2187 hadn’t even considered. The Resistance has the exact same medical checkups. Their facility is less organized, less sterile -- but he’s seen what they have to work with. It’s hard to hold them to standards that seem to be impossible for them to achieve.

“No muscle atrophy, and everything seems to be knitted together. Raise your arms.”

He does so, keeping his arms moving smoothly together, and reports, “There’s tension in my right shoulder.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, Ma’am.” He’s not lying. She fixes him with a glare, and he adds, hesitantly, “It isn’t up to full efficiency.”

“Put your arms back down,” she snaps, and makes a note in her datapad. “Don’t overwork it. And yes, I know your type, you’re going to use it until something breaks because you haven’t stretched it enough, and then you’ll come back asking to get something fixed that you broke with poor care to begin with. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” FN-2187 places his hands on his thighs. He does understand, too; he needs to take care of this body that the Resistance deemed important enough to save. “Ma’am?”

“What?”

“You said Rey is unharmed? Will I be allowed to see her?”

Doctor Kalonia pauses, and sets the datapad down. “Finn, you were in that tank for three weeks. You are going to stay here overnight, until I have ascertained you aren’t hiding any strange injuries and I’m sure that you’ll report any pain.”

“Three weeks,” he echoes back at her. “What does that have to do with Rey?”

“She stayed by your side for a good week, just like that boy Poe did.” Doctor Kalonia’s smile brightens her face. “Then Rey had to go off on a mission for the General, with Chewbacca and R2-D2 for support. Nobody else! Just a Wookie and an old droid and a woman we’ve barely met, and that’s all they need to go fetch Luke Skywalker back.”

“She--” FN-2187 shakes his head. “She’s gone to find Luke Skywalker?”

“Oh, son.” Doctor Kalonia’s smile is something that FN-2187 doesn’t understand, now. “Once we’ve gotten you clothes, I’ll set you up with a hololink, so that you can send her a message and tell her you’re awake yourself.”

FN-2187 nods. “I’d like that.”

“Poe Dameron,” she adds, “will come in here the moment we let him. Which will not happen until I finish my exam and get you some clothes, understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” FN-2187 says automatically. Why would he be waiting? He’s a pilot. He leads a squadron. He should have other things to do -- patrols, inspections, paperwork -- that are better uses of his time than waiting for Doctor Kalonia to finish her exam. Poe had been a good partner, but that was for less than an hour, during their escape to Jakku, and then for another day at most as they planned the rescue mission. How did that lead to such attachment?

That his own attachment to Rey had been formed just as quickly was a thought FN-2187 refused to acknowledge. That was different. He’d been acting within mission parameters -- even if the mission was “Get away from the First Order as quickly and effectively as possible” -- and having a close partnership with Rey had been the best way to achieve that. And rescuing her was because, as much as the First Order disliked it, FN-2187 believed in never leaving anyone behind.

Doctor Kalonia doesn’t try and talk to him for the rest of the exam, just snapping orders to look here, read this, move that -- that’s not talking, just directions. He follows them, pleased to have evidence that he’s been healed to fighting strength. Even if there’s a tightness in his shoulder and back, and he’s not quite as flexible as he used to be, he was still within acceptable parameters.

Finally, she steps back and nods briskly. “You’re in good shape.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Ma’am.”

She pulls a neatly folded stack of drab clothing from under a counter. “I’ll leave so you can change,” she says as he takes it from her. “I’m sending Dameron in in a minute. I suggest being clothed by then.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” FN-2187 waits until the door closes behind Doctor Kalonia, and then stands and shakes the clothing out. Standard-issue fatigues, just like he’d seen all the Resistance fighters wearing during his previous brief stay. He removes the bathrobe and puts on the clothing quickly and neatly, fastening all the zippers and buttons. They fit him loosely, but not so much that they impede his movement; the belt that’s part of the pants holds them up securely, and the shirt is meant to be baggy, he’s sure.

There’s a knock on the door, long enough after he’s finished dressing that he’s contemplating what to do next, but not so long that he’s actually sat yet. FN-2187 pauses and turns towards the door, taking deep breaths to calm his jumpy heart, and then says, “You can come in.” His voice wavers a little; he almost voices it as a question instead.

Poe Dameron opens the door and he’s smiling brighter than the Jakkuvian sun, so that FN-2187 can’t help but smile back. He’s got his jacket -- FN-2187’s jacket, maybe? -- over his arm, and he says, “Finn, buddy! I’m glad they’ve decanted you.”

Then he hugs FN-2187.

There’s a moment where FN-2187 can barely process what’s going on. Poe smells like oil and metal and sweat, and he’s warm, and Poe’s very existence in this space is so alien and a hug being his greeting is even more alien. Stormtroopers don’t hug. They clap each other on the back. Bump fists. High-five, maybe. Hugging is something that you maybe do in the bunks or when you succeed at a near-deadly mission. It’s not just a greeting. Especially not for FN-2187.

So there’s a second where he doesn’t move, and then Poe starts letting go, and then FN-2187’s brain catches up and he pulls Poe back in, hugs him just as tight. “I’m glad to be on my feet again.”

Poe laughs in his ear. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it, for a bit there.”

“Doctor Kalonia says that I’m in good shape now.”

“Good,” Poe says fiercely, squeezing him just a little tighter and then letting go.

FN-2187 releases him a little more slowly, but Poe’s grin is still bright. He holds out the jacket. “It’s still yours. I even patched it for you, see?” He turns it around, and on the back there’s neat lines of stitches holding on what looks a lot like a lightsaber, blue as the sky. “Jess and Snap helped with the decoration.”

He reaches out and runs his fingers along the stitching. “You did this for me?”

“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t do for my new friend Finn to go running around with a jacket with a hole in it; even after Starkiller Base, you still might get cold sometimes.”

A burst of laughter comes out of him before he quite realises what he’s doing, and then he reaches forward and gently touches Poe’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Poe smiles at him. “And thank _you_ for fighting, and winning, and _surviving_.” He grasps FN-2187’s hand. “Come on. Put on the jacket, and let me introduce you to everyone more properly, now that we aren’t fighting for our lives.”

FN-2187 -- Finn, he needs to start calling himself Finn -- nods, and puts the jacket on. It’s just like he remembered; soft and warm and heavy, a comforting pressure around his shoulders. He follows Poe out of the medical wing, and out into the sun, shining warmly down from a sky the same colour as the lightsaber on his back.

Poe turns to him and says, “So, Finn, where do you want to start?”

FN-2-- _Finn_ smiles.

“I don’t know,” he says, and then his stomach gurgles.

“How about the cafeteria?”

Finn waves a hand at the dusty courtyard in front of them. “Lead the way.”

Poe does, and he follows, warm in the sun and the jacket that is now his and the promise of friends.


End file.
